Things that take a bit of getting used to…

Not having to get dressed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. The first night back I woke up around 3am to go to the bathroom—I was pretty groggy after not having slept for 28 hours and was having some difficulty in the dark, fumbling about trying to put my shirt on. Peg asks, “What are you doing?” I answer, “I am going to the bathroom.”
“You are home now—you don’t have to get dressed to go to the bathroom!”
“Oh, right….” And I stumbled off into the darkness. But, I haven’t made that mistake again!


No ID card necessary to go for a run. When I was getting ready to go for my first run from home I started to run upstairs and get my ID to carry with me. Not necessary anymore—feels great to run without an ID. Funny thing is, I often forgot to take my ID with me to go for a run in Iraq… oops!


Water in the shower is OK to drink—don’t need to spit out the water while showering. The first week’s worth of showers back home I am doing a lot of spitting—but I don’t need to anymore! And, now I can brush my teeth with tap water!!! How convenient!


In Iraq, every time I went to have a can of Coke (diet, naturally), I had to wipe the dirt and dust off of it; or, if it had been sitting in water and ice I had to wipe that off of it. It takes a bit of getting used to; not having to wipe off my can of coke prior to drinking—not needed anymore!

The Trip Home….

The trip home was high drama. It is interesting that you can know you are going home, but have no idea when you are actually going to fly—government transportation is an interesting beast. Recall that when we deployed out of San Diego we flew on Southwest airlines… Well, we were scheduled to fly on military aircraft from Al Asad to Kuwait to Bahrain and then switch to commercial flights… But, I am getting ahead of myself… “Scheduled” is too strong of a word. We planned on flying those routes with the military, but as we are a small team we don’t quite merit a reservation, so we were going to have to fly “space available” to Kuwait—we had some kind of semi-reservation to fly from there to Bahrain and, of course, the commercial tickets from then on were no problem—as long as we made it to Bahrain in time flying “space-A”.

We had the Change of Command/Trasnfer of Authority ceremony (see last post) and then had a flight that was scheduled for later that evening—what luck—if we could get on the flight. Turns out, that we did get on the flight—things were going swimmingly! When we landed in Kuwait, the landscape was eerie, odd and mostly, foggy—some of the other folks on the plane with us were bummed because they were supposed to be catching another flight to Qatar but no flights were coming in our out of Kuwait after ours because of the thick fog… So, we hop on this bus that takes us over to the passenger waiting area and they herd us (literally) into this nasty old tent with a bunch of cots in it and we are told that no one is going anywhere until at least 0830 the next morning—arrrgh! We had had dreams of good food and maybe even beer—but, instead we got a cot, no blanket and an MRE—pura vida….

Turns out, after wandering around the next morning, that there was a nice chow hall only a 5 or ten minute walk away, but we didn’t know it—and no one had told us. We found this out after speaking with the good folks at the air terminal who told us that our flight was scheduled to arrive at 1830 that night. So, we were able to go to the chow hall and have a nice breakfast, and then a nice lunch and then a nice afternoon snack.—and that was our undoing…
The showtime for our 1830 flight was 1530—no problem. We were all there (12 of us on the team) and checked in and waiting around. Around 1630 we check with the staff and they tell us that we are on schedule and that it would be fine to go to the chow hall—just be back in the terminal by 1730. And this chow hall is worth the walk—maybe not today, but that day it was…

About 9 or ten of us go over to eat. After about half an hour two people want to go over to the coffee shop and say that they will meet us back over at the terminal at 1730. We start to head back to the terminal at 1710—timing is everything! About half way back HMC (she had stayed at the terminal) comes running up to us saying that the plane is about to take off and that the bus is waiting in the parking lot to take us out to the plane—MOVE!!!

So, we start moving. But then we find out that the two guys that left early are NOT already back at the terminal or ahead of us—they are somewhere behind us—ooops. So, I run back over to the coffee shop, and the gym, and the exchange, and the cafeteria, and every other place I could think of… No luck, no sight of them…
I run back to the terminal (in boots and utilities—not the best way to run)…the bus with the rest of my team is already gone—it is 1725… I get the manager to grab a bus and driver and take me out to the plane—about a 6-minute ride. Interestingly, when we get there the bus with my team on it is sitting on the runway and has yet to disgorge its passengers. This is because the plane is already full of space A passengers (we had a reservation for this portion of the trip). Much talk back and forth on the radio—the passengers that are on this plane are to be taken off and we are to get on—no sign of our two missing team members—arrghh!?!?!?
After about ten minutes we get on the plane with our stuff. We convince to plane to wait for our guys and they do so… But, by 1810 the4 guys still hadn’t shown up!??! Weird. And we have to take off or get off. I figure that it is easier for two guys to fly to Bahrain space A than for twelve—so, we take off…

Eventually, the two lost souls made it to Bahrain, but it was a few hours AFTER we flew out on the rest of our journey. But, they made it home (one on time and the other just 24 hours behind us) eventually. According to their side of the story they were at the terminal at 1730, but were told that our plane had already taken off…imagine their surprise!!! Luckily, they were resourceful and able to fly from Kuwait to Qatar to Bahrain to home…

Once we got to Bahrain, even though we were missing two team members, we made our way to the hotel bar and made up for the lack of beer in Kuwait (and drank one for the missing guys that had to spend the night in the tent again, but without any of their gear because it had got on the plane with us!). There was a bad band in the bar, but that didn’t stop us from dancing and having a good time. It was only when we got on the plane to Amsterdam the next evening and the stewardess says to our microbiologist “You must be tired for all that dancing last night!” that I realized how good of a time we had!!! This was followed by her pointing us out to several other flight attendants who all gave us knowing smiles—I am not sure what they knew…but there it was

So, that is the story of our trip home, complete with lost team members and a lasting impression on our flight crew before we ever got on the plane!!!

Transfer of Authority

Here is a picture of us and the wonderful Army team that relieved us--our new BESTEST friends!!!
This is the TOA (transfer of authority) day picture right after we ahnded over the mission--time to go home--more later more!!!

First Thing

“What is the first thing you are going to eat when you get back?”
“What is the first thing you are going to do when you get back?”
“What do you miss the most?”
“What is the first thing…?”

These are the questions that one hears constantly while one is deployed, especially if one eavesdrops just a little… People talk about this for hours on end day after day… Answers vary quite a bit… A sampling of things I have heard include (in no particular order):
Going fishing, watching TV, golfing, eating good food, doing nothing, drinking a cold beer, hanging out with friends and family, and a few other things that I won’t put in this PG-rated blog…

As far as eating—that is the major topic of discussion—what to eat when one first gets back—burritos (near the top of my list!), pizza, a good steak, fresh fish, sushi, vegetables of any sort—these are the common answers…

So, the answers to the query, “What do you miss the most?” are not a surprise: good food (see a pattern here?) and those activities that are the answer to “What’s the fist thing you’re going to do when you get back?”

When I was stuck in Balad—read that post here—we had a chance to watch a few movies. One of them was Crash. In the beginning of that movie one of the main characters—immediately after being rear-ended in an automobile—says that in Los Angeles people don’t touch each other and they miss the human contact, so they crash into one another to make up for the lack physical closeness… I think that being in the US military in Iraq is very much like living in LA—no human contact… Now, there are good reasons why we don’t go around hugging each other all day every day—that would be a whole new Marine Corps!! But, that is what I miss most, the closeness of family and friends.

So, when I get back, the first thing I will do (and, I imagine, everyone else that can) is to hug my family and hold on tight! I don’t even care what we eat, although a Santana’s burrito wouldn’t be a bad thing…

Ceremony Day

I got so excited about Thanksgiving that I neglected to share with you some exciting news—something that we were all thankful for…  We were able to hold a little ceremony the day before Thanksgiving to frock (promote) one of our team members and to re-enlist another.  This is good stuff.  And, the re-enlister happened to be a new chief—so, we were able to sneak in a little gift to commemorate that happy occasion also!
The flag pole comes in handy for the pomp and circumstance—something that I dearly love…
Anyway, here is the re-enlistment, a simple ceremony where the sailor is unceremoniously discharged (honorably) only to be sworn back in for an extended sentence, I mean, period…




In this case I am administering the oath.  Note that I put some effort into memorizing the oath so that I could administer it without reading a little cue card.  The memorization actually went well—had the thing down!  Then HMC decides to repeat the words back to me slightly differently than I am saying them—this throws me off for a minute—I paused, mostly for dramatic effect.  But, I think every else assumed I had forgotten what the heck I was supposed to say—patently false, I assure you.  But, the whole episode was a bit unnerving—hope I don’t look nervous in the picture!






So, here is the gift to HMC—this is very cool.  GI Joe has finally put out a tribute to Navy Chiefs action figure set—he comes with three uniforms:  dress whites (chokers), working khakis, and dress blues.  Very sexy!!!  Thanks to Rod for organizing that bit of happiness.






Lastly, we made a new HM2.  Another fine moment in another fine Navy career—I am a lucky guy to be able to be a part of these goings on and am very proud of this crazy bunch of nutballs we call a team!

Trip to Al Asad

I have been in communication with the fine folks that are relieving us out here.  And I was thinking about their upcoming trip to Iraq (note: they actually have already made the trip to Kuwait—we expect them here at Al Asad tomorrow!!), and I realized that I had neglected to tell you all the story of our trip out here…
Traveling with the military is always an exciting, edge of your seat experience where the big question is “How long do I have to sit in this hard plastic chair before they tell me the plane is broken and I have to spend the night here?”  This is why we were quite happy to leave San Diego on a commercial aircraft—we deployed on Southwest Airlines—not too bad—even get credit towards a free ticket!  Flight was on time, comfortable and didn’t break down.  Unfortunately, that only gets us to Baltimore where we are to get on the government (contract) bird to Qatar.
Now flying commercial is nice in that respect, but it does have the drawback of not being real user friendly to us military types that are trying to bring our weapons on board—you might imagine that it always goes smoothly when you try and bring a dozen pistols onto a commercial airliner post 9-11; you might also imagine that it doesn’t always go smoothly—enough said.  Eventually, we got our people, our luggage and our weapons all in one spot in Baltimore International Airport and headed over the AMC (air mobility command) terminal.
As we walk over to the AMC terminal we see a line—an amazingly long and thick and unmoving line of hundreds and hundreds of people…  But we are 4 hours early—this cannot be our line—surely this line must be for some other flight—wrong!!  This is our line and it isn’t moving because they don’t know if the plane is working yet or not…  So, we wait in line for about three hours—we did get some nice cookies from some Girl Scouts—and finally find out that, indeed, the plane is broken, but it will likely take off tomorrow.  Our line is now not a line to check in but a line to get onto a bus (with luggage) and drive 30 minutes south to some restaurant that can handle the mass influx of people—that might be OK.  But, after dinner we get back on the bus and drive for an hour NORTH to the motel.  This is one of those high class Motel 6 joints where you can watch all manner of commerce and activity happen right in the parking lot outside your room window—capitalism at its best—these are the very democratic freedoms we are hoping to instill in the Iraqi national psyche…
Several members of the team took advantage of the unplanned layover to partake in a last beer or two…
The motel did include a nice free breakfast—a cup of coffee and a doughnut from the Dunkin Donuts next door—tasty…
The bus was supposed to pick us up at 5pm to take us back to the airport, but instead showed up at 3pm and we were whisked off to the airport.  Short line, check in, we are on the plane!!!
Pit stop in Germany—plane breaks down—again!!!  This time the nice folks at the AMC terminal supply us with frankfurters and a soda—wonderful meals in the airport…  At the Duty Free shop there was a 20 gallon bottle of whiskey that seemed to catch everyone’s eye—that is my memory from my first foray to Europe:  a sausage and a huge bottle of Johnny Walker.  Four hours later the plane is fixed and we are on our way!!!
As we are flying the captain of the plane gets on the loudspeaker and announces:  “It is 10:35pm local time and we have just entered Iraqi airspace.”  A huge roar erupts from the collective—you see, it is June 30th and if you spend ANY part of a month in a qualifying area there are certain tax breaks and special pays (hazardous duty/imminent danger) that you get for the ENTIRE month.  Interesting system….  So, everyone on the plane was sweating making into theater prior to the 1st of July—what with the multiple breakdowns we were pushing the limit, but we did make it.
We land safely in Qatar about 1230am.  It is dark, we are tired, we have to sit and listen to an hour and half briefing welcoming us to this, the middle of nowhere—a big flat piece of sand and rock—the most desolate thing I have ever seen—I have driven over the Great Salt flats, through Death Valley—they got nothing on this place…
Finally, released to fend for ourselves—we need to find a flight to Al Asad in Iraq.  We have on 0600 showtime for a flight later that morning—nothing to do but hang out for four hours…  a big orange sun at 0430 in the morning…  a shower.. a very fine breakfast—this isn’t so bad…
We bundle ourselves onto a C130 Hercules for the flight from Qatar to Al Asad—now that was uncomfortable!  It must have been 120(F and we are wearing all our battle rattle (flak and Kevlar) and are completely unacclimated to the heat and are packed in like sardines (no tomato sauce)—brutal!  I passed out after a few minutes on the plane—it was the only way to make it through that flight
It felt so damn good to get off of that plane—I was so happy to finally, after four days of fun and excitement to be here.
So, that is the story of how we arrived here—hopefully our replacements have equally exciting escapades during their trip to Al Asad!  Just so they show up!!

A Few More T-day Pics

Just so you see what else they had in the way of decorations apart from the animal theme. Here is an interesting ice scultpure that doubles as a vase!
They had a cake--or something that looked a lot like a cake--that was bigger than big. This thing was at least 5 feet long and 4 feet wide--that is a lot of frosting. It may have been made out of cardboard, but that wouldn't make it any different than their normal cakes, except, of course, for being quite a bit bigger.
Lastly, another ice sculpture--this one with leaves--plastic ones, I believe...

More Thanksgiving Pics

As promised, here is a picture of the roast pig made from bread--interesting concept... Lot of pitas in this area of the world, but not much pork--I wonder how a pita pig would be taken???

To continue the animal theme... Here is some sort of sculpture--at first glance it looks like a big water pitcher--I think it is actually supposed to be a turkey, but it is displayed upside down. You make the call!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Well, well, well… Looks like it is that time again… I haven’t put up an entry for a while—sorry about that—but be thankful, here is the latest installment!! Just in time for the Thanksgiving festivities that abound here in Iraq and back home in the States.
First, there was, of course, a special meal today at the chow hall—look at the happy expressions below…


We had roast turkey breast (which was a million times better than the normal turkey loaf roll that they serve—that stuff is NASTY), ham, rib eye roast and a big old hunk of meat known as a steamship round—I had never heard of this, and if you say “steamship round” real fast it sound like something that belongs in the fort-o-potty, but evidently it is good. The side dishes were quite traditional: cornbread stuffing, garlic mashed potatoes (never enough garlic!), sweet potatoes and green beans, cranberry sauce, and plenty of bread.
So, with my plate loaded up, I made my way to the back of the chow hall where there was a table for eight open—we were eating in shifts—some one has to stay on watch at the building!
The food was rather tasty compared to our normal fare—I think the Diet Coke was a poor substitution for a nice glass of red wine though… Alas…

You probably noticed in the above pics that the place was decorated beyond belief—normally those walls are plain as plain can be—but the entire chow hall was done up—I will post more pictures later. Until then, Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!

Thank You Falk School!!!

If you read the last post, you know that the USMC birthday was last Thursday the 10th of November. The following day was Veteran’s Day, amazingly enough, not celebrated as widely on this USMC base as the big 230th birthday… But, that date was also important because it was the day the packages arrived. It really was like Christmas when I walked into my office and found 6 big boxes chock full of surprises, snacks and signs from Ms. Coughlin’s classes at Falk School in Pittsburgh!!
So, I want to take this blog post to let the fine students there know that we received their good wishes and goodies and wish to send a big swooping THANK YOU right back at them!!!
Any students that have questions are more than welcome to e-mail me or post a comment on the blog

USMC Birthday!!

Today is the United States Marine Corps’ 230th birthday.  The USMC was founded in Tun Tavern located in Philadelphia, PA (read about it here:  http://www.usmcpress.com/heritage/usmc_heritage.htm).  So, the USMC flag flew from our flag pole this day.
But, the day was also notable in that it was the second time since being in Iraq that I was able to see my breath!  That’s right—it has gotten cold enough here in the last three days that two mornings ago and this morning, on the way out for my morning constitutional, I have been able to see my breath…  It may have been colder a couple of weeks ago, but the humidity was so low that there was no chance to see any breath vapor.  But, the conditions here are ripe for it now…  Plenty of clouds, an occasional rain drop and drastically cooler nights…  So, when people tell you that it gets cold in the desert, they aren’t making it up.  It is still in the 80s during the day, but that often feels chilly as the wind cuts right through and we are used to it being a good deal hotter…
Happy Birthday USMC, now put a jacket on…

Capitol Improvement...

We here in Iraq never tire of improving our little corner of the world… But, in this case, the improvement came from a FOU (Friend of Unit) across the street. A fine Army gentlemen that we occasionally have over for BBQs and bartering—he has some skills that are quite useful for keeping our little building running smoothly and we have lots of stuff…

Anyway, the other day he comes over and asks if we want a flag pole… Well, what group of patriotic people that are far from home (that’s us) are going to turn down that offer?? Behold the new FDPMU flag pole….Thanks Woody!!!!

Insurgent Chicken

"You are hereby warned that you are eating crows that have feasted on infidel flesh"!!

This is what my dear wife wrote to me when I told her about the chickens. She was sure that this was the meaning of the indecipherable (to me) words on the side of the chicken. Perhaps I should start at the beginning...

What are you to do, what are you to think, when a man stops by your office and gives you a few frozen chickens out of the back of his truck?? Clearly, he wants something. That being established, and having given the man what he wants, one is still left with the problem of what to do with eight frozen chickens. These aren't any chickens--there is writing all over the plastic that coats these chickens--one can imagine that it says how delicious these chickens are--much like the tasty chickens that come from the factories in the Southern United States where workers are locked into the work spaces during the day so that they don't run screaming form the factory line out into the clean fresh air (I digress)--the writing is clearly Arabic. Or, perhaps I should say the writing is clearly not English, not American fer sure... So, local chicken, wrapped in local plastic with local writing all over it--what's not to like. These things are crying out "beer can chicken"! You can practically hear it now--the clucking... Of course, we don't have any beer cans... But, Sprite-can chicken doesn't sound too bad; not as bad as near-bear chicken anyway...

You know what my wife said when I told here about the chickens and their colorful and wordy packaging (see above). I am somewhat more adventurous than my wife--after all, I am in Iraq and she is in San Diego taking care of the kids and dogs and cat and fish and house and having a baby--hardly a challenge! Anyway, being somewhat adventurous AND having an advanced microbiology lab at my disposal, not to mention a hefty stock of antibiotics, I decided that I could chance it... Think of it as a public health inspection—for the good of the people….


So, a few of the chickens were thawed, washed lovingly, dried tenderly, rubbed vigorously with various spices, and placed ever so gently on a can of lemon-lime soda and a bed of warm coals... I should mention that there was some discussion over the amount and placement of the coals; the relative merits of using Iraqi charcoal (hotter and faster) versus Kingsford (longer and slower) were also discussed at length and was the decisive factor in the final amount and placement of both the coals and the chicken...

Eventually, more of the "right" coals were added and the chicken cooked to a perfect golden brown on the outside and a tender, juicy (well, it was juicy--tender may not be an entirely appropriate descriptor in this case) inside...

You can see the immediate results here...Shortly after, this was all that remained... Anyway, this is what the chickens looked like when we got through with them...
What did we learn? Iraqi Fried Chicken isn't the same as Kentucky Fried Chicken, but it is much better than a kick in the teeth...

Sports

OK, time to get back to the sports theme I started the other week.
So, yesterday was the third Saturday in a row that no other teams have shown up to play volleyball--evidently they are all scared of us!
But, what is scary is that our team is getting smaller also.  The Saturday following our volleyball victory our four-man team was reduced to three--recall the injury to one of our players.  We were at least able to hit around a bit and practice.  The next Saturday only two of us showed up.  Yesterday, at the designated time and place, I was all by myself.  So, I start thinking maybe they are scared of me; I might need to get those Odor Eaters out after all--although I have been showering fairly regularly of late...
My thoughts then drifted to the various sporting activities available to the folks deployed over here...  these are those (somewhat random) thoughts...

• I saw a boxing ring in Baghdad, but I have never seen any actual boxing here in Iraq--besides a boxing class where full contact is not allowed.  I am not sure who thought that (a boxing ring) would be a good idea, but I am sure that we have enough ways for our troops to get hurt over here.


• We at Al Asad have a track and field--although the field is just dirt and rocks, no grass anywhere...  On this field I have seen soccer, football, and ultimate played; although the constant wind here makes the playing of ultimate (I think) untenable.


• Volleyball:  you know I have played volleyball over here, but it is a bit different than at home—you cannot dive because you are playing on some serious rocks and dirt.  And, when you hit the ball off of the court there is a good chance that it will land in some razor wire—this is problematic as far as the ball and the game are concerned….  When the ball gets stuck in the razor wire it goes without saying that it is problematic for the retriever…


• Tennis balls for sale in the exchange in Baghdad—no rackets or courts available, but someone might want to play stick ball or just practice juggling, maybe even use it as a foot massager…


• In Balad you could buy a racquetball racket, racquetball balls and a tennis racket and tennis balls—but, there were no courts of either type anywhere—what is the thought process that goes into that???  I wonder…  Maybe the rackets could be used in the boxing ring...?


• Swimming--many of the larger bases do have pools. I have gone swimming in Balad, Fallujah and Baghdad.  For some reason I have never made it to the pool here at Al Asad, even though I had my dear wife send my goggles (finally)--I will get there soon and let you know all about it...


• Running--I do a lot of this here at Al Asad (and some falling).  But, I also got in some nice runs while I was stuck in Baghdad--running around a picturesque lake next to an old palace--wild!


• I have worked up a sweat playing ping pong here--of course, it was pretty hot out...

Anyway, those were the thoughts I was having when my volleyball team mate finally showed up 15 minutes late.  Of course, it didn't matter because everyone else was still afraid to play!

Quick Birthday Follow Up

Just wanted to show you what can happen when you are deployed during your birthday and your family has a "special" sense of humor. They made this beautiful cake for me and then ate it... Check out the wonderful before and after pictures! At least there isn't a picture of them with chocolate all over their chins!

Happy Birthday Navy

Today is the Navy birthday--230 years old! There was a nice ceremony on base to celebrate, complete with readings of the Commandant of the Marine Corps and Chief of Naval Operations birthday messages, a Marine Brigadier General and his thought on the occasion, and an older Navy CAPT surgeon who started his military life as a Marine in Vietnam where he was inspired by the Navy Corpsman that served with him. Then there was cake...

Something about cake in the desert--it is always dry... Dry dessert in the desert...

Speaking of birthdays, I had one the other week and would like to take this moment to thank each and everyone of you that took the time to send and e-mail, a card, a present or even a thought--a big swooping thank you coming right at you!!

That day (my birthday day), was also the birthday of one of our other team members, so we had a wild party with dancing and... oh, no, we didn't do that... we had a sedate celebration where we BBQed a few steaks and had a couple of cakes though; and these weren't dry--very tasty, in fact. Somehow HMC ordered them over the internet--guess she still feels bad for throwing away my wash cloth. Or, maybe she just likes cake...

Anyway, I got all kinds of good stuff in the mail for my birthday. Interesting story how my Grandma got birthday-jacked so that I could get an awesome box of presents: for Grandma Rita's birthday party everyone brought a present for me (seeing as Grandma didn't need anything) and they put them in a box and mailed them out--very sweet. So, I guess she still had a birthday and a party, just no presents. So, that would be a present-jacking??

Anyway, I now have a sun visor with a built in fan, a paddle ball set and a beanbag filled with rice that I can use as a hot pad or a cold pack, two beanie babies (one Army and one Navy), a drink sleeve foamie thing in that is in the shape and color of a Hawaiian shirt, cookies, and one of those smelly cardboard Christmas trees that go in a car to make the port-o-sauna smell good... boy, am I lucky! I also got two books from Grandpa and Grandma--one about bad dogs and one about the origin of some of the words and phrases we commonly use... I got season 3 of The Man Show from Uncle Jack along with Jackass, The Movie... A sweet travel Scrabble game--the little tiles stick in the board--very cool, more books--including one entitled "On Bullshit" that is absolutely fascinating.

Anyway--thanks again everyone!!!

Fort-o-potty!!

A break from the sports theme to get us back to the main thing... the port-o-potty.

We have often thought that it would be nice if there was a bit of shade available for our port-o-potty; today we did something about it. HMC got to use an electric screw driver and a power saw; despite my instructions, she remained injury free...


The IH got to play with the power tools also, but just for a few minutes until we had to take them away from him as a safety measure. Although here is a nice picture of him "blending" into the cammoflauge netting--see if you can spot him...








Note the field expedient use of a HMMWV as a ladder. Previous to that we had used a vastly inferior ladder of inadequate height and I had been left hanging precarioulsy from the roof of the port-o-potty holding onto the drill with one hand and clinging to the vent with the other--not good. At least there aren't any pictures of that!!




Next is a picture of the team resposible for this abomination...









And, of course, the obvious result of making a fort decorated with cammo netting around a port-o-potty is a fort-o-potty.

Redemption

Some have pointed out that I fell, quite literally, into a jackass trap the other day (see previous post). Believe me, the irony had not escaped me! Others have pointed out that perhaps I should have made up a better story--you know, rocket fire and IDF causing me to dive for cover with the resultant wounds worthy of admiration; instead of the scorn and scoffing that the truth seems to have engendered...

Realizing I may have painted myself in rather too poor a light, I (with your kind permission.... thank you) will relate the story of how we dominated on the Al Asad volleyball courts last Saturday. And, during these games, how I did not get hurt or even fall down!

First, check out the picture of the championship team, the viscounts of volleyball, the barons of bumping, the sultans of setting, the... well, enough of that.
Next, check out a close up of the medal--note the bronzish coloring of the first place gold medal--doubters beware, this is the first place medal. It is just that the young lady in charge of running the tournament had no idea what she was doing at a volleyball tournament, no idea regarding the rules, and, evidently, how the various color medals match up with the final rankings.
In fact, when all the teams gathered together for the tournament the first thing she said was, "I don't know much about volleyball, but I asked a guy and he told me some of the rules: no ‘lifts’, you can only use your hands--no feet, and it is OK to hit the net when you are trying to hit the ball." So, the immortal words of Meatloaf say that two out of three aren't bad; I have to assume that one out of three is bad. Because only the first of those rules she laid down was correct. Eventually, order was restored and we played on using a unique set of rules that had some semblance to the actual volleyball rules.

Now, sadly, someone on our team did get hurt--but it wasn't me... And I didn't cause the injury... Just so we are clear on the whole clumsy and falling down thing...

The faster they run, the harder they fall...

Yesterday morning was glorious... Sun was shining, sky was clear, mild temperatures (relatively), slight cooling breeze--not that hot, nasty breeze that we had before. Heck, when I went to go out to our port-o-potty in the morning, the birds were even singing--it was like the opening to Cinderella (soon to come out on DVD)! In other words, it was perfect for a run. So, I went for a run.

It was, like the morning itself, glorious... right up until the end...

That is when I was feeling my best. The last 1/2 mile I had picked up the pace--stretching the old legs out, filling the lungs with warm and relatively dust-free air. Had my shirt off for maximum cooling. Had my cool shades on to guard against ricks, bugs and other flying debris, not to mention against the bright desert sun and the unsightly crows feet that come with too much squinting.

I am going along the long straight away that leads to the back of our building. This is where I have to turn a corner--not unduly sharp, not particularly hazardous on most days. But, there is a little trick: the side walk ends right after the corner and then there is a smallish run of concertina wire blocking the path... No problem, just take the corner a little wide, drop down the side walk into the street between the wire and the garbage can, and continue on my way. However, I was going fast and thought that I would pay extra attention to getting around the corner and by the razor wire, which is aptly named...

The problem with this is that there was a sizeable lamp post laying across the sidewalk at the beginning of the corner--how I misse dthat I will never know. But was I suprised when I found myself rolling and skidding along the sidewalk straight towards the razor wire! Well, the skidding stopped about 1 foot from the treacherous, flesh-ripping beast. However, I was on my back with my legs rather gracefully arranged (ikebana style) up in the air... So, while the rest of me stopped the legs just kept on trucking and came crashing down on top of the wire, which acted as a sort of spring and then shot my legs back out and over my body the other way. That was actually a relief as I have heard stories of Marines getting caught in the razor wire and not being able to get out on their own...

Did I mention the 10 Army folks that were waling on the opposite corner at the exact same time? How about the truck filled with people that was also coming around the corner? No? Well, they were there... I didn't stop--I used the momentum from the wire expelling my legs to stand up and start running again--really fast this time! The door to our building was only 20 meters away--the damage report could wait--I was on a mission: trying to maintain SOME cool points...

Alas, it was not to be. I ran up to the building and the door was locked!!! I was like the Miracle Whip commercial guy looking in the window, "Please, please, let me in!!" I ended up going around to the front of the building--not too far--and made it in the front door.

Damage report: skinned left knee, slightly skinned palms bilaterally, bruised ego, road rash on the left butt cheek and a left hip/butt that prevented me from sleeping on that side last night (and likely again tonight--that hurts!)...

Insult to injury: there was some kind of plant debris on the corner sidewalk (see the picture of the jackass trap below)--as I slid across the sidewalk (note the skid marks in the plant material), my sweaty back acted as some sort of super efficient burr/seed collector--I was covered, and my short were full of the stuff--I have know idea how that happened!

Clouds

Today an amazing thing happened—I saw a cloud. Actually, I experienced the cloud—it was very, very deep…

I went for run around 1700 (5pm for you non-military folk)… The sun was getting towards the bottom part of the day—almost daylight savings, rather the end of daylight savings time—no one ever says that it is almost standard time—and, there was a pleasant breeze out. So, a leisurely run seemed in order—around 8 miles; what the heck else am I going to do after sitting at my desk typing e-mails and reports all day, type a blog entry??

About 5 minutes into the run I notice that it gets a bit darker (those Oakleys really come in handy) and cooler—this isn’t normal. I look up, and, BAM! Clouds! Not a whole bunch of clouds, just a long thin line of intermittent white fluffiness high on the horizon. Seems the weather doesn’t change too fast, because that one little cloud hid the sun for almost ten minutes—in California that cloud wouldn’t have lasted for more than 30 or 40 seconds in front of the sun. Interestingly (some might say fascinatingly), the clouds were moving from the South towards the North. The prevailing wind here o the ground is most definitely from the North towards the South. What’s up with that? Maybe a meteorologist can explain it to me some time—but it kept my mind off the legs while I made my loop around the main side of base.

I wanted to take a picture when I started running and saw that cloud, but I generally don’t carry a camera with me when I am running. Actually, I should carry a tape recorder—ok, let’s get real, a digital sound recorder—because when I am running I often hear the most amazing things. One day, I am running down by the wadi (swamp) and I can plainly hear the soothing sounds of 50cal machine guns going off in the not too far distance (Marines practicing on the range; nothing to see here; move along…). This is soon accompanied by the sight and sound of a pair of CH-46s (helos) flying low and directly overhead. Then, the coup de grace, an F-18 flies high over the base—the Sound of Freedom is loud! Normally when I run I think about all kinds of things, but at that point I couldn’t hear myself think—so, I stopped; thinking, not running. As the cacophony died down I was able to have a moment of clarity where I realized that I was, in fact, not in Kansas or San Diego anymore—I was running in the middle of Iraq, in the middle of Al Anbar Province, not the friendliest place around. It was enough to make me miss the California clouds…

Anyway, I took a picture of the clouds when I got back from the run, but before I went to the gym to “get my swell on”. Check it out (n.b. it just looks like I am pushing on my bulbous bicep to make it appear more massive).

Toilet Wars...

Long, long ago in a place far, far away there was an FDPMU team of good and wholesome Navy personnel living peaceably with their Army neighbors on a Marine base. The FDPMU folk shared a border with the Army folk and they shared the same set of port-o-potties. Everyone got along fairly well; generally the Army put the lids down and kept the doors closed, generally they kept all of their bodily wastes in the proper part of the port-o-potties. The Army medical personnel gave medicines to the Navy folk that were in need, and the Navy provided medical expertise and range time to the Army medical folk. Everything was going swimmingly.

Then, there was the RIP (recall the unfortunate acronym for Relief In Place). During this evolution the old Army folk had to leave to a better place, a promised land they called home. The new Army folk that took over the same lands were not so neat and companionable. They didn’t shut the doors or put down the lids in the port-o-potties; they regularly misplaced their bodily wastes. The port-o-potties became perilous!! Action had to be taken; a public health unit—a true preventive medicine unit—cannot standby and watch any ablution or lavatory facility become unsanitary. It is an aching anathema to us—this will not stand!!!

So, the microbiologist (well versed in the handling of stool) went to talk to the leader of these new, messy, dirty, poor-aiming Army folk… You might expect that someone in such a leadership position would be compassionate to our, his neighbors’, needs; that he would be wise in the ways of sanitation; that he would desire to have pristine port-o-potties for his troops. You would be sadly disappointed…

More action was needed! This action was actually taking place, unbeknownst to me, at the same time. Another of the toilet trespasses that the new Army folk had perpetrated was to use all of the alcohol based hand sanitizer, followed by some pagan ritual (not that there’s anything wrong with that) of throwing the container on the ground. Chief had orchestrated a trouble call to KBR/Halliburton (you know, the vice-president’s former employer—the guys that provide the basic life support services here on base) and complained about this lack of hand sanitizer. When the supervisor showed up she regaled him with our tale of terror. This man, being a purveyor of fine port-o-potties was horrified. Luckily, he was also a man of action. Upon his request, in very short order, two of the four port-o-potties were moved to the other side of our building and locks were installed to which only we have the key!!! What a bold move… So, now we have our own set of, once again, pristine facilities. The Army folk are living in squalor next door, and I would be glad to help them if they ask—but in the meantime we are waiting for the explosion of diarrheal stool samples that we are sure to get from these guys in the near future!!!

Finally!!!

Well, on a sudden I realized that I hadn’t posted in exactly two weeks—weird… I was trying to think why that might be. The last time I posted we had just gotten water back on so we could take a real shower—but, I don’t think I have been taking showers constantly since then—at least not so many that I couldn’t have posted. But, the coincidence that the water went off again yesterday (Sunday) and has been off since makes me wonder…

Anyway, I feel like I have been extremely busy the last two weeks, although I couldn’t tell you exactly what I have been doing—and not because I have been doing top secret stuff either. I guess the best description is busy work and support work to get the team ready to travel, finish up some reports and data analysis, and start liaising with the Army team that is going to relieve us—that is interesting because I feel like we just got here and I have a ton of things I want and need to get done, but I already have to start planning to leave! Anyway, all those task are things that keep me sitting at my desk all day in front of my computer—boring!!!

I have heard that there is a two month lull in the middle of a six month deployment—the first two months go by in a blur getting settled in and figuring out what is going on, the next two months are spent grinding out the routine that you developed in the first two months, and the last two months are spent getting ready to leave—funny how, in these reports, the only time left for actual, meaningful work is the boring middle two months!! I haven’t found that to be the case to date—things here are moving very fast and we are working at a fairly rapid pace. However, I will admit that not as many things in our daily life seem new and exciting right now…

[U] Not My Last Post...

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED//SENSITIVE BUT UNCLASSIFIED

Now, about the e-mail rant I wrote last week, you know, the thing where I have to classify and unclassified e-mail in order to send it—the sage continues…  Shortly after I wrote that there was, magically and without warning, a subtle change in the little helper application (this may be the most ironic use of the word “helper” in the English language) that makes you choose the classification of the e-mail:  that’s right, the choices of CONFIDENTIAL and SECRET disappeared!  Now, you have only one choice of classification:  UNCLASSIFIED (I am e-mailing this post to the blog just so you can see what the header and footer look like).  The great part, is that you STILL have to choose (i.e. move your mouse over to the spot and click on the list to activate and then scroll down and click the ONE choice) the classification.  You also have to choose a comment!  The choices for that are none/blank, FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY, SENSITIVE BUT UNCLASSIFIED, and LIMDIS (for limited distribution).  So, while it used to take a single key stroke or mouse click to send an unclassified e-mail on the NIPR, it now takes a minimum of SIX mouse clicks and scrolling!!  Amazing!

 

Another bold experiment:  I noticed that the drop down menus allow you to type your own text in them—now this could be very interesting!?!?!  Even, fascinating!!!  I tried another test e-mail to Peg; this time I didn’t choose the preset wimpy UNCLASSIFIED, but I typed in my own brief summary of my feeling towards the program thinking them appropriate.  Foiled—when you type in an answer the little “OK to Send” won’t activate.  But I didn’t give up—never let the Man beat you!  I chose UNCLASSIFED and LIMDIS (what the heck?).  Now the magic “OK to Send” button lit up.  Now I went back to the drop down menu for classification of the e-mail, and (drum roll, please) I could change to my own text and the “OK to Send” button stayed activated.  They hadn’t counted on this kind of persistence!!  Feeling pretty good, I sent the e-mail on its way.  Everything went smoothly…  Too smoothly, I got that sinking feeling in my stomach—you know the one.  I had to check the e-mail that had actually been sent.  So, I navigate over to the Sent Mail folder and click on the message I had just sent…  BAM, there it was in all its wimpiness, the normal, redundant, 6-click UNCLASSIFIED warning on the top and bottom of my e-mail…  Drat, foiled again!!!

 

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED//SENSITIVE BUT UNCLASSIFIED
If this e-mail is marked FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY it may be exempt from mandatory disclosure under FOIA. DoD 5400.7R, “DoD Freedom of Information Act Program”, DoD Directive 5230.9, “Clearance of DoD Information for Public Release”, and DoD Instruction 5230.29, “Security and Policy Review of DoD Information for Public Release” apply.

Hygeine Post!

OK, you can stop worrying—the security guys haven’t come to get me… yet. And, this is really big, I just took my first real shower in well over two weeks!! Who cares that the water heater was off? It was still wonderfully refreshing, I assure you
And, just in time too. In the mail today I received two packages. One of the packages contained a large number of Odor Eaters—enough for our whole 12-man team. So, either the sender was kind enough to include enough for everyone on the team; or, and this is my theory, they had been reading the blog and realized that two weeks without a shower is too long and that I must stink and that if someone has an odor about them the best thing you can do (besides preventing the odor with a shower) is give them something to combat that odor—ergo, Odor Eaters. I think I would have considered placing Odor Eaters in various pockets of my uniform and other strategic places, but the water came back on. So, I will share my Odor Eater bounty with the rest of the team, but I may keep a few back for the next time the water goes out…

My last post???

So, a few weeks ago the computer guys come and put a program on the SIPR (Secure Internet Protocol) computer. This is a separate network for secure communications—secret stuff goes on here, along with non-classified information also. Often times this network is more reliable and has fewer restrictions on it because it is separate from your NIPR (Non-secure Internet Protocol) and internet. Anyway, the program that they put on the SIPR computer makes you choose a classification for the e-mail you are about to send out; SECRET, CONFIDENTIAL, or UNCLASSIFIED (don’t even try to wrap your mind around the whole “classified as UNCLASSIFIED” conundrum—you will hurt yourself—trust me). Now, every time you go to send an e-mail on the SIPR computer you have to choose what classification to make it—a bit of an extra step, but not too onerous—takes about 2 seconds per e-mail. Actually, it is pretty onerous, it is just that not that many e-mails are sent on the SIPR so it doesn’t have a huge impact on my time.

Then, last week they install the same damn program on the NIPR (non-secure internet protocol). Now it is definitely onerous. Tthe NIPR is supposed to be non-secure, no classified stuff should be on it—so, why do I need a program to make me choose the classification? I have to choose from the same set of possibilities listed above. I am guessing it is a jackass trap—if I put a “SECRET” label on a NIPR e-mail, I wonder how long until the security guys come banging on my door to slap my hand—or worse…

So, here goes a bold test!! I sent my normal nightly (morning to Peg) e-mail home to say how things were going, but I gave it a “SECRET” label. This was two days ago, the security guys haven’t come yet…

Water, water everywhere… But not a drop to bathe in…

Actually, that’s not true. We at Al Asad are located at an oasis of historical import—it is said that Abraham spent some time here—however, the size of the oasis compared to that of the base is miniscule. The water runs off into a wadi (a dried up river bed cum swamp) overgrown with reeds and kept green by the copious amounts of wastewater that Americans produce. The wadi then drains into the Euphrates River several kilometers up the road. So, there is water here, more than in most of the desert, but it is mostly waste water that may or may not have been appropriately treated—the waste water management infrastructure on base is old and not up to modern standards, but will be upgraded in due course. Certainly the system is better than when the US first arrived!

So, our main source of water on base for drinking is bottled water. But, our main source for everything else (e.g. showers) comes from a nearby town; the water is piped onto the base and treated, monitored and otherwise surveilled—that is how we know that bad guys haven’t messed with it and that is isn’t really water that you would be happy to be drinking—although it is good to go for bathing and washing clothes. Maybe the bad guys have thought of putting something sinister into the water, but to date the best they have done is blow up the pipeline that brings the water into the base.

This is why we are on day 7 or 8 of no running water—I think in the last two weeks we have had about 3 days of running water. Again, things could be much worse. I much prefer taking a shower with bottled water than not taking a shower at all. I prefer coming out of the dust and dirt and wind and sleeping in a (relatively) clean building than wallowing in the sand all night in a tent. We have it pretty good! I am sure you can imagine how the process works for a bottled water shower. Thank goodness for short hair—some of the females on the team have long hair and they need a couple of extra bottles for their bottled water shower.

No, the tricky part of the no running water experience is the laundry. You see, in so many ways we are living quite comfortably—clean bodies, clean rooms—that is becomes burdensome to have dirty skivvies. And that is exactly what you have after a week or so of no running water! So, I thought I would take this opportunity to show you an excellent example of Iraqi plumbing and electricity combined in the form of our washing machine set up. Check it out:

First, you can see the gray pipe for incoming water that is an add-on from the now famous “I do it myself” plumber. Next to that pipe you can see the hard-wired electricity coming down the wall, but we don’t use that—too obvious. The white cord draped around and on the gray pipe is the extension cord that plugs into an overloaded surge protector that provides our washer its power. The coup de grace is the drainage system—that’s right, the hoses snaking across the floor and into the center floor drain make up the drainage system. You can only drain one item at a time or else the whole thing gets overwhelmed and next thing you know you are squeegeeing the floor trying to push water down the drain.

Now, the washing machine itself is unlike anything I have ever seen. I am sure some of the readers of this blog have seen or used something similar in the past, but not me. Two top-loading sides of the machine are obvious. One is the agitator side and the other is the spin side. The procedure goes like this: place clothes and soap in and fill up agitator side (making sure drain switch is off—otherwise filling takes a long time as all the water goes right down the drain!), let it agitate for 10-15 minutes, drain and move wet clothes to spin side (making sure to turn drain switch on—otherwise the spinning is useless and the water stays in the machine!), place clothes back in agitator and refill with water (again making sure drain switch is off), agitate another 5-10 minutes, spin again.

As you can tell, there are some pivotal points in this process where the drain switch has to be correctly set or else the entire process is compromised and various steps have to repeated until you get it right—it can be quite a time sink…

Time to go check the laundry!

Home on the Range

Well, we went to the range again this week. Success! No one got injured! Not a single burn from hot brass shell casings sliding down people’s necks (this happened to 2 people the first time we went out). No Berretta bites, the nasty cuts one can get on your hand or thumb from keeping the misplaced appendage in the recoil area of the slide—nothing to sneeze at.

Like any other military adventure, there is always a lot of “hurry up and wait” action. We hustled to get to the range at 1500 so we could go “hot” (live fire authorized) at 1515. Of course, we were there on time, but various hold ups, including a malfunctioning radio (perhaps due to operator error, we will never know…), helicopters flying through our range airspace, safety briefs (these are important!), wind blowing the paper targets off of the plastic silhouette targets because the temperature and lack of shade conspired to melt the duct tape glue after a few minutes—that is hot, when duct tape isn’t worthy of a MacGyveresque use because it melts. Of course, MacGyver probably would have used the melting duct tape as a timer for a fiendishly clever trap to get the bad guys. But, our bad guys were pieces of paper that blew away when the tape melted—not very good for shooting at—especially when there are a bunch of other folks around!!

Anyway, we ended up doing more waiting in “check-fire” mode than actually firing because of vehicles and helicopters in our fire zone (area of the base over a cliff and behind the range) and communications problems. However, we were able to get in quite a bit of M-16 and M-9 firing time. Hell, I even passed the M-9 qualification course (again). First time I did that was back in 1994 as a medical student on a rotation in Whiting Field Florida when I was the medical support for the Marines at the range one day. I remember that February in Florida was very cold. I think I prefer the heat of Iraq to that!

I spent part of yesterday afternoon reading these accounts of the “real life” of Marines here in Iraq from one of two USMC field historians in Iraq —definitely worth the time! Check out these stories (Crowley’s Chronicles): rule308.blogspot.com

Survivor... or not...

Sometimes, living and working with 12 people in a small building in Al Asad feels like it would make a great reality show.  Like right now, we are going on our fourth day without running water.  At first it was due to a lack of power to run the pumps.  Then, today, we found out that the insurgents had blown up part of the main water line that feeds the base—another 5 to seven days before we can expect water to be freely flowing through our pipes.  Kind of reminds me of Survivor!  Along that vain, after two months you do get to know people pretty well—maybe too well!  The water issue combined with the inherent closeness makes for some great fun!  But, unlike Survivor nobody gets voted off of this island—we need everyone to make the team work and get the job done.  So, not exactly like Survivor (can’t wait for the new season to start and to get the DVDs in the mail—Andrew!??!!).

 

Then there is the exciting investigations aspect of the job; kind of like CSI or that great show that was on for a while last year: Medical Investigations.  Heck, they already have JAG and NCIS—two wonderful shows about Navy investigators of crime—why not a show about Navy medical investigations and surveillance?  This could be a combo between Survivor, CSI, JAG, Medical Investigations and Over There!  Who wouldn’t want to watch??  Madcap adventures while performing Environmental Health Site Assessments on far off bases, identifying unknown goop from airplanes (very dramatic), swooping off to outbreak investigations where the lives of EVERONE hang in the balance, filtering gallons of water to look for itsy-bitsy parasites that cause disproportionate amounts of watery stool, chow hall capers—the possibilities are endless…

 

On second thought, maybe I will just read the book…

Runing into the Wind

Wow, it has been a while since I posted here—not exactly sure what I have been doing that has kept me so busy. I wasn’t traveling—although I was supposed to, so I did spend time getting ready to travel. We got the package (see previous post) to Qatar—it is even going to Cairo as I write this… I have been looking at data from diarrheal cases here on base and from various other places. Paperwork, meetings and the like seem to have taken up the time for the last week. Strange how time flies when you are having fun. In fact, we are basically at the two month mark here—that means that we are about 1/3 the way through this deployment! Amazing!

I did practice the harmonica the other day—I have been meaning to get better (if not good) at that instrument—but I think it would really help to practice.

Wow, it has been a while since I posted here—not exactly sure what I have been doing that has kept me so busy. I wasn’t traveling—although I was supposed to, so I did spend time getting ready to travel. We got the package (see previous post) to Qatar—it is even going to Cairo as I write this… I have been looking at data from diarrheal cases here on base and from various other places. Paperwork, meetings and the like seem to have taken up the time for the last week. Strange how time flies when you are having fun. In fact, we are basically at the two month mark here—that means that we are about 1/3 the way through this deployment! Amazing!

I did practice the harmonica the other day—I have been meaning to get better (if not good) at that instrument—but I think it would really help to practice.

Running. I have been able to get back on a running schedule the last week or two. Very good for the mind, soul and body. But, running at lunch still isn’t a good idea in this heat. We had a bit of a cool spell last week and this week—the temperature never climbed above 110F, it felt relatively nice out. So, one day I think to myself, “self, let’s go running!” Did it matter to me that it was 1240 and the sun was near its zenith? No, not a bit. It was a relatively calm day and it didn’t feel that to standing next to the building. When I say relatively calm, that truly is relative—because everyday seems to be windy here. And most days, the wind takes on characteristics of the fabled Southern California Santa Ana wind on steroids—that is, the wind is hot (where have heard that phrase before: hot wind???). Sometimes when I am running with my good buddy Dave in San Diego we notice how the wind is always coming right us, no matter which direction we are running. Here, I don’t have that problem—it is a constant, one way affair—but 3 out of 4 running directions still feel like they are into the wind—very weird… Anyway, normally if you go running in the wind you might have to worry about getting cold—not here—here the problem is that it actually INCREASES your body heat! Amazing!?! The first part of my little running loop is either across the wind or with the wind, but the last third is directly into the wind (maybe I should switch the direction I run this loop!?!?). So, running at noon was actually feeling pretty good for the first 3 or 4 miles, then BAM! I turn into the wind and start to get warmer with every passing moment—I was hydrated before I left, but this was a raisin-making wind. I got real hot real quick and had to slow way down. I managed to finish the run, but I won’t underestimate that hot wind again!!!

Whew, just returned from a nice 6 mile run—makes a big difference running at 1830 instead of noon—it has started to cool off by then, and I ran in a loop going the opposite way so that I finished the run with the wind—THAT felt good!

Speaking of feeling good—here are the first pictures of Isabel Min—check her out!

Has her mother’s feet,

And my beautiful bald head!!

ARRRRGHHH!!!!!!!

OK, we are trying to send a package of frozen patient specimens to Cairo.  These have been painstakingly collected over several weeks and represent a huge investment of time and effort.  FEDEX cannot guarantee overnight or even 2 day delivery.  So, the better solution (we think) is to send it on a plane from here to Qatar, where a lab tech picks up the package and freezes it until someone from Cairo flies over, picks it up and flies back.  A bit more expensive than FEDEX to send an entire person to go pick up the package, but it guarantees the cold chain which is more important than the actual date the package arrives.

                                                          

The problem, of course, is that you get what you pay for, and the leg of the trip from Al Asad to Qatar is “free”.  The cargo is going space-A, but it is a relatively small box and should fit on any plane—especially any plane capable of flying between here and Qatar.  So, two days ago I take the package up to the terminal and fill out the required paperwork.  There is a flight in two hours and that is the required lead time.  The terminal folks then direct me to take the package over to the flight line, where I fill out the exact same paper work again (I suppose the first time was just practice).  I speak at length about the importance of these clinical samples, how they must stay frozen, should stay out of the direct sun; how, if for some strange reason the package doesn’t get on the plane we will need the package back to keep cold until the next flight.  Lots of head nodding and “Yes, Sir!”  But, to no avail…

When we call after the flight has taken off, we are told the package was not put on the flight—no explanation given—just that it wasn’t put on the flight…  But, don’t worry, there is another flight later in the day.  Fast forward four hours to the exact same conversation AGAIN!!!!  Only now there is no flight until tomorrow.

 

So, we collect the package and bring it back to the unit’s wonderful -70 freezer for maintenance.  The next day, another 1300 fight is scheduled.  Dutifully, the package is brought up at 1100 for its 2 hour wait on the flight line.  Again, admonitions of the importance of the samples and how they must be frozen—everything is looking good.  We are confident!  At 1400 we call to make sure the flight left OK.  And, lo and behold, it did leave on time—except the package wasn’t on it, again!!  No worries, there is another flight at 2130.  This time we have someone standing by at the terminal.  He looks the flight line guy in the eye and asks, “The package is on that plane right there, the one leaving for Qatar right now?”  The answer is, “Yes it is.”

 

The flight from Al Asad to Qatar is about 2.5 hours (give or take).  There is an hour time difference to account for.  So, we figure out the arrival time of the package in Qatar and give the flight information to our man in Qatar—who is a female by the way, but “our woman in Qatar” just sounds weird…  She will be standing by to pick up the package.  We go to bed knowing that things are under control…

 

You might be shocked to know that I got a phone call at 0230 informing me that our woman in Qatar was standing by, the plane had landed safely, but there was no package on it.  Double searched, double checked—no freaking package on board—it was easy to verify because the plane was empty except for one other small package that, miraculously, did make it on board!!!!!  Frantic e-mails, frantic phone calls—no package…  Out of desperation we call the flight line here at Al Asad and they tell us, “Oh yeah, the package didn’t get on that flight. We will put it on the next one…”

Car trouble...

So, when you are deployed and your pregnant wife is at home taking care of the bills, the house, the kids, the yard, the dogs, the cat, the fish, and the cars, what are you supposed to think when you get an e-mail explaining how she handled it when some warning lights came on in the car (direct quote):

 

“The coolant tank was completely dry and it took 2 quarts of oil to bring the level back up.”

 

I don’t know about you, but I am a little worried…

I Do It Myself!

Sometimes you have to do things around here yourself; things like carpentry, plumbing, electrical work, heavy lifting and moving, repairing equipment (such as PCR machines or generators or air conditioning units). In fact, most of the time it is the quickest, easiest way to get things done. There are some things we don’t feel comfortable doing, such as putting a new circuit into the rat’s nest of a circuit box that we have in the building. We can add a new outlet or two to an existing line without too much difficulty, but that central circuit box is something to behold, a Gordian knot of wires of various hues and colors that adhere to no power scheme known to mankind. And, of course, it is much more dangerous than a simple Gordian knot, because a sword through the middle of it would have a swift and shocking result!

This is why, when we recently had to get a dedicated line for a new -70°C freezer it required “professional” help. There are real, military electricians on base, but it is a crap shoot on whether they are going to come in response to a trouble call, or the local Iraqi “professional” is going to come. On this particular day, a team of four Iraqi electricians showed up to put the line in. Actually, it is a bit more complicated—two of them were electricians and evidently two of them were plumbers. It was just that the plumber was the best speaker of English, so he came along (with his partner) to help out… I was gone that day, but when I got in the next day there was some hubbub about the place almost burning down because the way the plug had been rigged up was not quite up to code. A contributing factor may have been the microbiologists attempt to un-screw up the situation. Regardless, when I got back from my trip the nice -70°C freezer was, in fact, not very cold because it was unplugged. The plug was melted and burned as was the receptacle box—when you want biologic samples cold, it is disheartening to see the plug and outlet responsible for the coldness black with soot and misshapen from the heat of the moment…

Another trouble call—emergent!! This time I am around when the 4 local tradesmen come into the building. The English speaker and I are chatting a bit while the others work—this is how I find out that he is really a plumber. Now, you have seen the some of the plumbing work in this building if you have read any of the previous posts. We have a flushing squat toilet, some sinks and two showers, but I would say that the plumbing system in this building is far from being an example of the best work available. In fact, it reminds me of something my younger brother wrote the other week after working for the summer on new construction plumbing: “I now realize that hoses and pipes don’t just randomly come out of a building (or house), there is an actual plan!” If my brother had spent the summer working on plumbing here in Al Asad he might still think that it is a completely random process…

So, chatting up the “plumber”, I am getting ready to ask him some questions about fixing some of the things around this building. Before I can do that, he leans over with a big smile and says with a large amount of pride in his voice, “you know, all the plumbing in this building, I do it myself!!” I just nodded, said “Thanks—it is great!”

But I was thinking, maybe, when it comes to plumbing in Al Asad, I will do it myself…